


He Wants the D

by foxfireflamequeen, kidslipstream



Series: Sailboat in the Moonlight [3]
Category: DCU, DCU (Animated), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, RP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxfireflamequeen/pseuds/foxfireflamequeen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidslipstream/pseuds/kidslipstream





	He Wants the D

**_Bzz._ **

> _**ROB** : I giot stabbbed in the leg so alfred gave me somhting_

**_Bzz._ **

> _**ROB** : And im not allllllowed to paytol for two days._

**_Bzz._ **

> _**ROB** : Why dont we sext?_

**_Bzz._ **

> _**ROB** : We shoudl sext_

Wally had just arrived in Central a few hours earlier, beaten and exhausted to the bone by some particularly brutal midterms—mechanical physics and OChem. So he blearily rolled out of bed to the sound of incessant texting at 2 am.

 _Dick_. It was  _Dick._

**_Bzz._ **

> _**ROB** : We should sext now_

Wally stared at his phone dumbly.  _What?_ It had been almost two weeks since the trip to Miami that had been just a hair short of a disaster; two weeks since Dick had dropped $350 on him because Wally wanted terrible tattoo as a joke; two weeks and the stupid thing had just _barely_ healed, in spite of his accelerated metabolism; two weeks since—

**_Bzz._ **

> _**ROB** : Ill start._

—he'd brushed Dick off at the end of what should have been a hilarious, fun date because he was in pain and irritated; two weeks since he'd asked Dick to call him and— 

_**Bzz**  
_

> _**ROB** : Dyuo thikn im hot wally?_

**_—Yeah._ **

But he still stared at his phone in his hand, totally unsure of what to do. Not that he was _complaining_ —it was such a _relief_ to hear from Dick because—

**_Bzz._ **

> _**ROB** : Do you think about me when you jerk off?_

He froze, a thick, hot blush starting at his cheeks and spreading over his ears.

**_Yeah._ **

He thought about him when he jerked off; he thought about him every time he strained over his shoulder in the mirror to see if the tattoo was finally healed; he thought of him when his roommates were complaining about how hard their computer science classes were; he thought about him while he watched the news over breakfast, lunch and dinner; before he fell asleep; when he woke up; almost all the time in between, and he thought about him especially— _ **especially** —_every time his phone rang or buzzed or just existed in his field of vision. 

And also when he saw that the calls and texts weren't from Dick. 

**_He_** really should have called, honestly. He was the one who needed to apologize; he was the one who needed to  _thank_ Dick for playing along with his terrible idea; for dropping hundreds of dollars on it; he was the one who got irritable and unpleasant that evening in Miami, in spite of the delicious food and weather and theoretically hilarious thing they were doing.

But he'd asked Dick to call and Dick hadn't called and he was probably just busy but  _what if Dick wasn't calling because he didn't **WANT** to talk to Wally? _

He felt guilty, and the guilt chewed at him, gnawed at him, ate him alive until midterms made it impossible to deal with anything else. 

And it felt stupid, in retrospect. He should have just called. 

But now Dick was _there_ and—should he still apologize? Dick was clearly _high_ , and it felt a little weird to launch into _sexting_ when they'd last left each other on a sour note—hell, they'd barely fooled around since they started dating, given Dick's **_history_**. Should he act like everything was fine? Was this okay? Maybe it _was_ okay—maybe—

**_Bzz._ **

> _**ROB** : Do you want the d wally?_
> 
> _**ROB** : Ill send yo u a picture._
> 
> **[MMS]**

Okay, nevermind. Wally lost it, snorting into his pillow. _So that’s how he wants to play it? Alllrighty then._  It _was_ fine. Thank god.

And Dick was impatient.

> _**ROB** : Did yuo not like the d wally _

_“D,” huh?_ Wally’s tongue darted over his lips before texting back.

> _**KF** : if by d u mean donut then yeah give it 2 me bby_

A second later, he followed up.

> _**KF** : what happened?_
> 
> _**KF** : and what the hell does Alfred have you on and is it legal in all 50 states_

But apparently Dick wasn’t interested or cognizant enough to fill in the blanks.

> _**ROB:** I meant me!_
> 
> _**ROB** : I gave you the d wally apperciaet it_
> 
> _**ROB** : I dont give everyone the d yu o know_
> 
> _**ROB** : I knew you loved donuts more tha me_

Snuggling back under his blankets, Wally couldn't help himself.

> _**KF** : i dunno dude they do keep me warm at night_
> 
> _**KF** : they fit juuuuuuuuust right_
> 
> _**KF** : soft and creamy and gooey_
> 
> _**KF** : like apple pie_

_Wait, what was that one twisty kind called again? Oh, right._

> _**KF** : *gasp* Crueller, icing doesn’t go there_
> 
> _**KF** : oh, oh Boston Creme-san! Be gentle!_

Wally snickered as he hit the send button, but his phone was already glowing with a text he had received in the meantime.

> _**ROB** : I coudl keep you warm a t night _

_Oh. That was actually really …_ he smiled. Hmm. The donuts were probably not the best uhm … He hastily started on a better reply.

In Gotham, Dick giggled quietly at Wally’s _oh, oh Boston Creme-san! Be gentle!_ , his injured fingers clumsier than usual but still quick as he shot off a series of new messages.

> _**ROB** : Say i t again. Day my name. Youre tooo cute when yuore moaning it out like htat _
> 
> _**ROB** : Stop squirming. If we keep up like this, the chococolate will get everywhere._
> 
> _**ROB** : Ohhh. You look like you enjoy eating me. Swalllowing me down like that. Yuo lok so hot. Am i too big for you, wallly-kun? Am i fillling you upp_
> 
> _**ROB** : ?_

Wally hadn’t even typed three letters of a better reply when his phone lit up in quick succession. _Oh my god, Dick, what kind of porn have you been watching?_ He chuckled. _Are these donuts gonna grow tentacles or something?_ But it looked like Dick hadn’t expected a nicer answer or was too drugged to notice or care, sooooo … This was too easy.

> _**KF** : Oh Mr. Boston, i want all of ur sweet sweetness_
> 
> _**KF** : u live up to your name, Creme-san, so much inside of u_
> 
> _**KF** : dude u feel so good in my mouth!_

Dick was on a roll now.

> _**ROB** : Oh, you swalllowed all the filling. How do i taste wally_
> 
> _**ROB** : Kun?_

His phone lit up with a late text, and Dick paused in typing out his next lewd message.

> _**KF** : … but seriously dude you are HIGH. u ok? what happened?_

Aw. Serious question. _Ruin my fun, why don’t you?_ Heaving a sigh, he started rolling onto his stomach, but his side protested immediately. Looks like it was going to get attention one way or another.

> _**ROB** : Im fine. Jsut got stabbbed. Went rihgt through th kevlar._
> 
> _**ROB** : Skay. Nothing big. I thnk Alf gave me the strrong stuff just to make sure I dont try goin g out on patrol again tonight. Makes me HIIIIIGH, but it goes throuhg my system pretty quick._

Stabbed? Wally frowned. It happened way more often than he’d like, and it still seemed like kind of a big deal.

> _**KF** : stabbed???? dude no *wonder*_

Blood loss could be half of Dick’s high-ness.

> _**KF** : fuuu what happened? can you even remember what happened? haha with everything you’re on_

Thank god Dick couldn’t go out on patrol again.

Dick sighed. Wally worried too much. He reached around—ow, wrong side—to fluff up his pillows and slide himself up against them, because the drugs were just making him entertaining, not sleepy.

> _**ROB** : Im high, wally. I dont have_
> 
> _**ROB** : I frgot the word_

Okay, so he might have selective amnesia. Amnesia!

> _**ROB** : Amensia. I dont have anamnesia._
> 
> _**ROB** : Was stopping a street brawl. There wa s just a lot of thugs. Shoudlnvte let my guard down. Its fiiiiiine. Might not even scar._

That wasn’t even a lie. There was still a 10% chance that it actually wouldn’t scar. His phone buzzed with a new message, and Dick grinned as he read it.

> _**KF** : those drugs better not go through you *too* fast. don’t make me come and hold you down._

As if you could. Dick was an escape artist, hello?

> _**ROB** : Why Mr. West, dont tell me youd take advantage of an invalid._

_Pfft_. "Forgot the word amnesia." Wally snickered to himself. It wasn’t really like Dick to get caught by surprise, but it happened, and if it was a giant brawl … His screen lit up again.

> _**KF** : take advantage? why, I *never*! My ONLY concern would be your *safety*_

He cleared his throat self-consciously, trying and failing to chase away the all-too enticing thoughts of Dick s-squirming underneath him with thoughts of how he actually was wanting donuts now.

Dick snorted. _‘Safety’ my ass._ That was actually a good response, so he sent it.

> _**ROB** : Safety my ass._

Wait.

> _**ROB** : That wasnt an innuendo._

This was good. Texting was helping his mind push past the morphine, forcing coordination and collection of thought. Dick put his phone down on his lap—there would probably be a message or two from Wally by the time he picked it back up—and closed his eyes.

_Zero._

_One._

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Five._

_Eight._

_Thirteen._

He didn’t enjoy being doped up, no matter how entertaining it made him to his teammates. His body refused to move the way he wanted it to and it left him feeling more vulnerable than he’d ever admit to being. This was almost as useful as thinking of Alfred in order to avoid sprouting a tent in awkward situations, and it was the next best thing to playing the piano—and less dangerous than walking a balance beam—to clear his brain.

_Twenty-one._

_Thirty-four._

_Fifty-five._

_Eighty-nine._

Like it or not, Robin was in no condition to sit up and play the grand piano in the foyer right now, and his laptop was on his desk. Too far away for the effort and pain.

_One forty-four._

_Two thirty-three._

_Three seventy-seven._

_Six ten…_

Wally snickered as his phone lit up.

> _**ROB** : Safety my ass._
> 
> _**ROB** : That wasnt an innuendo._

> _**KF** : awww, why not?_

He really should let Dick sleep the meds and the pain off, but … he was feeling selfish and lonely and hungry and couldn’t sleep now, so. Surely Dick would just nod off on his own when he needed to. Besides he couldn’t resist:

> _**KF** : Me and Boston Creme-san are disappointed_

Dick rolled his eyes, half in amusement and half in indignation.

> _**ROB** : *le gasp* You… you have another Boston Crème with you?_

Oh, good. He was finally coherent. A few pushes and pulls later, he was sitting cross-legged against his pillows, too-heavy head lolling on them as he typed without bothering to look.

> _**ROB** : How could you do that to me?_
> 
> _**ROB** : Am I not enough for you, Wally? Don’t you love me anymore?_
> 
> _**KF** : I can’t help that Boston Creme-san finds me so irresistible._

Wally paused, trying to come up with the best way to phrase the next part.

> _**KF** : You’re worth more than 1000 Boston Cremes to me, Dick-chan, and I am saving the very *best* parts of the Wallman only for you._

But seriously, he was going to have to run out to the 24-hour Happy Donuts on Main because all this talk of donuts …

> _**KF** : in the meantime … 3some?_

Staring at the text for several minutes didn’t seem to alleviate his distaste for ‘Dick-chan’, so Dick typed in—

> _**ROB** : I know I’M high. YOU’RE not high. You can’t GET high._
> 
> _**ROB** : Are you sure you’re not high too?_

Threesome. With a donut.

Wait a second.

> _**ROB** : …You got donuts, didn’t you._

Wally paused, cash in hand at Happy Donuts as the haggard all night-shift employee bustled around to get the two dozen donuts— _half-off—_ for Kid Flash. Being a superhero had it’s perks. But technically they were over there and not in his hands soooo …

> _**KF** : nooooo what makes you say that_

He frowned.

> _**KF** : and I’m not high, I’m *hungry*_

Small but important difference! Wally huffed as he took the bag and dropped a $10 tip on the counter and raced back home, a Boston Creme already between his teeth. He skidded to a stop at a stop light to add as an afterthought:

> _**KF** : and horny, no thanks to *you*_
> 
> _**ROB** : You’re horny and I had nothing to do with it? Should I be jealous of Boston Crème-san?_

To be fair, Wally wasn’t the only one who was hungry. The initial pain had made it near-impossible for Dick to swallow his usual after-patrol snack, but with the painkillers taking the edge off, his stomach was starting to protest the emptiness.

He navigated the hall in the dark, making his way to the fridge to find the sandwich Alfred had made him, replaced by Cocoa Puffs in the aftermath of his injury—Alfred always spoiled him when he was hurt—replaced with plain chocolate milk—still a reward—when Dick couldn’t bring himself to eat the cereal.

With the pain low, Dick couldn’t justify binging on sugar right now. The egg sandwich would have to do. Loading the sandwich onto a plate and putting it in the microwave, Dick checked his phone. No reply yet. Which could only mean that Wally was still running home from his donut stop.

> _**ROB** : Pity, really. Your Boston Crème doesn’t know the tricks I do._

By the time Wally made it the rest of the way home, his phone had buzzed twice. He breezed up the stairs, stripping out of his uniform and dusting the powdered sugar off his face before flopping down onto bed shirtless and in pajama pants to reply. He made a face at the screen. _Dude, what? No_ —“no thanks” for making me horn—

Actually, Dick was probably just fucking with him. _Fine_.

> _**KF** : I dunno, maybe you should be—depends on your tricks, I guess, circus boy. ;)_

_Hehehe_. Wally wiggled down into the covers of his boyhood home while he visited his parents for the weekend and pulled out his latest Feynman book while he waited for Dick’s “tricks.”

Dick had barely gotten a bite into his sandwich when his phone lit up on his desk. Thank god Elinore wasn’t here tonight; or she’d have tossed the phone against the wall first chance she got. This late night texting probably messed with her beauty sleep.

_Depends on my—_

Wally wasn’t getting any that easy.

> _**ROB** : You know me._
> 
> _**ROB** : Guess my tricks._

“Guess”?

Really? Wally … genuinely had no idea where to start. What did Dick even categorize as a “trick” in this sense? So he just started throwing stuff out.

> _**KF** : uh … can you balance on a ball?_
> 
> _**KF** : can youuuuuuuuuu … spin plates?_

Okay one for real.

> _**KF** : can you fold your legs behind your head?_
> 
> _**KF** : c’mon dude I don’t even know what you mean. Throw me a bone._

_Heh._ Now that he thought about it—

> _**KF** : CAN you throw me a bone?_

Huffing a laugh around a mouthful of eggs and bread, Dick sank into his pillows.

> _**ROB** : I can do all of that._

Simple. Entirely unsubtle.

Even though he hadn’t actually tried spinning plates since he was, what, nine? He’d broken an expensive china set and Alfred had banned him from it, and little Dick Grayson had actually listened because at that point he was still a little worried about being thrown out if he didn’t follow the rules.

> _**ROB** : Can’t everyone?_
> 
> _**KF** : *snort* I can’t_
> 
> _**ROB** : Then I don’t suppose you can give me a blowjob while you fuck me either, huh?_

… Wally scrambled to retrieve his phone from the floor while he tried and mostly failed to swallow his last bite of donut. He was coughing so hard his eyes were watering, but he managed to fumble out a text, shifting his boxers into a more comfortable position, since the fit had gotten suddenly awkward.

> _**KF** : so i thnik i jsut go t that bone u threw_

Dick grinned. The joy was in the little victories.

> _**ROB** : Oh, really?_
> 
> _**ROB** : Which part helped you get it?_
> 
> _**ROB** : The part that says I can do it, or the part that says I could be doing it to you?_
> 
> _**KF** : */yes/*_

Wally palmed himself through the thin fabric of this flannel pajamas, letting his eyes drift closed. Geeze, six years of friendship—more than 2000 days of texts—but this was … a first. He knitted his brows; he didn’t even know what Dick looked like right now.

Welp. Best to start with the basics, cheesy and cliche though they may be.

> _**KF** : so what are you wearing?_

Oh.

Dick swallowed involuntarily, suddenly acutely aware of where this was going. But he’d started it, even though he didn’t really have an endgame in mind, and he couldn’t back out now. If the flush he could feel spreading down from his cheeks straight to his… er.

Well.

If that was any indication, he didn’t _want_ to back out now.

> _**ROB** : Boxers and bandages._

It was only after he hit ‘send’ that he realizes that bandages weren’t exactly sexy, so he quickly added a distraction.

> _**ROB** : You?_

Wally’s phone lit up.

And Dick was almost naked.

Which made sense, since clothes get in the way of injuries; they tangle and pinch. But Dick was almost _naked_ , and Wally would be lying if he hadn’t developed A Thing for bandages and scars in his job over the last six years.

His cock twitched and his hands shook a little as he replied:

> _**KF** : my blue flannel pjs, no shirt._

He stalled, trying to come up with something else. This felt more awkward than the times he’d done it before. Maybe because it was just another in a long line of “shouldn’t”s with his best friend, but … probably just that he didn’t really know what Dick or maybe just dudes in general liked?

Uhm.

> _**KF** : would you like me to take them off?_

Dick swallowed. _Yes, please, take them off and send me a picture._

But that would be too easy.

Dick set his empty plate and glass on the bedside table, and when he settled down on his bed, legs stretched in front of him, he could almost imagine Wally… right… there…

With him.

> _**ROB** : Not yet._

Giving direction, though, was something he could do. It didn’t even require that much higher brain function. Dick had a feeling he wasn’t going to have higher brain function for much longer.

> _**ROB** : Are you—_

His cock was already half-hard, and Dick tightened his grip on his phone with both hands to keep from giving in.

> _**ROB** : Are you touching yourself?_

**_Yes._ **

Wally glanced down that the hand half-wrapped around himself, squeezing through his pajama pants and boxers, but he resisted the urge to slip his hand beneath them. He wanted to last.

> _**KF** : yeah. over my pants_, he finally texted.

He closed his eyes, wishing it was Dick there touching him, palm rubbing firmly over the flannel, over him—though that might throw a wrench in the “lasting” part. He blinked that thought away.

> _**KF** : … are you?_

The answer was no, so Dick avoided the question entirely.

> _**ROB** : Wanna know what I’d do if I were there?_
> 
> _**KF** : here? like next to me on my bed at my house?_

Wally hadn't mentioned he was at home in Central for the night watching the house because his parents had gone out of town. … he also refrained from mentioning the half-dozen remaining donuts that were apparently joining them on the bed. The thought of Dick there on the bed, over him, sent warmth through his body, and he arranged his pillows behind and beside him so that he could text more comfortably.

Dick rolled his eyes.  _Duh, brainiac. Where else?_ His phone buzzed again, lighting up with a second question that he could answer without pushing random buttons to see which one was red.

> _**KF** : sooooooo do i get a kiss?_
> 
> _**ROB** : Maybe. _

It was a good thing that Wally was back home, and—Dick didn’t try to hide his grin, alone in his room—that his parents were out.

> _**ROB** : Maybe I’d straddle your waist and lean over you and kiss you stupid._
> 
> _**ROB** : Maybe I’d push you into your blue and white pillows as I ravage your mouth._
> 
> _**ROB** : Maybe I’d tangle my fingers in your hair because I love the sounds you make when I do that._
> 
> _**ROB** : Maybe I’d tell you to stop holding back and be louder for me._

Wally could barely control the shudder rolling down his spine as his phone lit up four times in succession. _Maybe._ He shut his eyes tight against the image of Dick over him, weight on his palms on Wally’s shoulders, tongues tracing each other’s lips, filled with the taste of Dick, the texture of his fingers on his collarbone, the smell of his honey shampoo … Wally carefully squeezed himself so this didn’t end for him too soon.

> _**KF** : “Maybe,” huh?_
> 
> _**KF** : Is this a choose your own adventure?_

Another squeeze as he curled around his phone, grinning.

> _**KF** : if so, I choose b_

They knew more about each other than anyone else in the world, but Dick didn’t know a whole lot— _more like nothing_ —about what Wally liked in bed. So really, it wasn’t cheating if he applied a bit of analysis to what sort of wording Wally seemed to prefer and drew conclusions from that.

Option B meant that he wasn’t opposed to Dick taking charge— _at least this time_ —which was perfectly fine with him.

> _**ROB** : We can work with that._
> 
> _**ROB** : I could definitely grind down on you while sucking on your tongue._

A shudder ran through him at the thought of Dick above him—on him—pressing him into the bed covers—hips matched, hot warm lips around his tongue—christ, another firm, still squeeze, a little harder. Eyes closed, a moment to breathe. What would he do next?

Grab Dick by the hipbones, wrap his fingers tightly into … _whoa_ Dick has hipbones—like _not-girl_ hipbones. _Probably not that different though, right?_

He rolled over onto his stomach, propped up onto his elbows, the light pressure against his cock keeping him just uncomfortable enough to last.

> _**KF** : I’d grab your hips, hold you down tight against me, arch up—_

Wally’s fingers paused a moment as he flashbacked to the last time they’d been … close like this. Dick’s birthday party. And honestly when they’d got to this point, Dick had … well, stopped, because the memories of what Dick had endured in those few months in juvie reared their ugly head and—was this going to set them off? 

 _Hmm_. He flopped back against the bed for a minute, wondering if that reply would make Dick uncomfortable again. Sexting was so removed; they were far apart, but still …

Or maybe it would be better this way; not so … in their faces, so to speak. They could get used to what it would be like. But on the other hand, Wally wouldn’t be able to tell, really. Dick had pressed on that day; he hadn’t _stop_ -stopped, but he was there in person to tell that it really _wasn’t_ as okay … or it didn’t _seem_ like it. He wrinkled his brow. _Stopping had been the right decision then, right? S_ _hould he have let Dick try to get over it then?_ Or … like, Dick _wanted_ to get over it, right?

He shook his head. _Of course he did._ But would he tell Wally if it made him feel weird now?

For the first time that night, Wally had to admit that even if they did keep going, he wasn’t totally sure what to even say past the make-out stage. Was he going to sext giving Dick a blowjob or vice-versa? He hadn’t really paid attention to how to give a blowjob in all his years of porn consumption. Were they going to have _actual sex_ , which, honestly, he was a little fuzzy on the details in general, much less knowing what Dick liked.

He himself could come from, _hell_ , almost _anything_ at this point—the thought of Dick’s hands in his hair, _oh god, down his boxers—breathe_ , West—but he was pretty sure Dick didn’t have his … metabolism. He’d almost definitely need more than a virtual handjob, right?

_… fuck, what if he faked it?_

Wow, nothing would feel worse. _Especially_ from a **_guy_**. _Annnnnnd_ now that he thought that, he _knew_ he’d wonder.

And Dick was _**high**._

And they'd left things so awkwardly that night in Miami. 

He propped himself up on his elbow and stared at the half-written text. Not _too_ much time had past; he’d felt himself fall into overdrive somewhere around remembering Dick’s birthday, and a few deep breaths brought him into slow-time. ….. where apparently his boner had gone a while before.

At least he’d last longer.

_How the hell do I …?_

Staring miserably at the phone, he deleted what he’d written. He tried to remember what had definitely been okay the last time they did this. The seconds ticked by.

> _**KF** : I’d wrap one hand in your hair and kiss you harder, and run my other thumb over your nipple._

Send.

Was that too clinical? Cheeks glowing red in embarrassment, Wally dropped face first into his pillow. How freaking girly was it to want “to do this in person first”? He groaned and dragged himself out of bed and over to his desktop. If they _were_ going to do this, he at least should know how to do it well.

> _Google: How to give a good blowjob._

Should that be “good gay blowjob”?

_Nah. This should be fine._

He tapped enter and curled his feet around the chairlegs as he waited for his phone to light up again.

Dick waited expectantly for a moment, then a few seconds.

Then it was a minute, and he was wondering exactly what Wally was writing that could take so long. The possibilities were endless, and Dick finally dared to sneak a hand past the hem of his boxers, cock twitching against his palm as it slid over the foreskin to cup over the head. Eyes fluttering shut, it wasn’t hard to imagine the last time they’d made out on a bed, his bed, Wally’s tongue tracing his lips, the _ziiiiip_ of his hoodie falling open, hot, burning fingers pressing into his nipples and oh, he wanted to hear that gasp again, wanted to hear Wally moan his name in a way he’d never heard before and hadn’t heard since, know that it was _him_ , and that it would only be _him_ , for a very long time.

Robin’s breath stuttered, and he checked his phone again for something a little more… present to fuel his fantasies.

 _Nothing_.

Dick pulled out his hand, blinking through the arousal into confusion.

> _**ROB** : Wally?_

He didn’t send it, mind whirring as he cleared the draft and typed in his next instinct.

> _**ROB** : Did I do something wrong?_

Delete.

That was likely to get him—possibly false—reassurances and avoidance. Wally was good at denial on the best of days, but he was a terrible liar.

_Are you okay?_

If Dick could just see him he’d be able to tell if something was wrong, probably even figure out what it was, except he wasn’t there and maybe he had crossed a line because they hadn’t exactly talked about this. And if they could, they never would, either.

They both liked to talk a lot, but Wally veered far from anything related to feelings, and Dick could never actually say what he meant. So they’d learned to read each other’s eyes and bodies and voices better than their words, but none of that was available now.

Wally knew Dick would never want to make him uncomfortable, didn’t he? He could say no to anything, anytime, and Dick would stop. Immediately. Wally had stopped for Dick before and Dick would always do the same for him. Wally knew that. He had to.

…Right?

Robin was seriously considering throwing on some clothes and zeta-ing over to Wally’s place by the time his phone finally buzzed with a new message.

> _**KF** : I’d wrap one hand in your hair and kiss you harder, and run my other thumb over your nipple._

Even the coincidence of Wally’s text matching his fantasy wasn’t enough to keep the realization from twisting his gut because—No.

Wally apparently didn’t know that.

Twenty minutes. That’s how long it would take for Dick to wriggle into a pair of pants, force his arms high enough to put them through a shirt, zeta beam to Central, and walk to his boyfriend’s house. Maybe thirty if he had to stop for a breather. He could just go over and make sure that Wally was alright, hear it in his voice, kiss him in person and tell him it was okay to stop.

His phone glowed in his hand as he scrolled over the texts again, looking for an indication where there was none.

Or he could do what normal people without access to teleportation devices did—

He pressed the green button before he could change his mind.

—and call.

Wally hmmed thoughtfully. _Ice was always fun_. He clicked through a RedBook article on how to give a good blowjob, trying hard not to think about how he once saw his mom with a copy of the magazine. It wasn’t half bad, and maybe had some things he’d like to … try. An ice cube wouldn’t last all that long in his unusually warm -

 ** _Ring_**.

Hand frozen on his mouse, Wally stared at his glowing phone with a pang of panic. Dick was calling, and he couldn’t close his browser fast enough. _Dick can’t see you, idiot. ...Probably._

His hand was vibrating with anxiety as he picked up the phone and stared at the screen with Rob’s name on it. He was having a hard time remembering what exactly he’d said in the last text. _Had he accidentally sent the earlier one? Was what he said too much? Did he take too long?_

**_Ring._ **

He knew that if he answered he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of playing off his anxieties over voice. _Maybe I should have told him I was … "preoccupied" to explain why I took so long_. The insinuation was totally partially true, probably enough to obscure the real preoccupations that ate up that time.

But the fact of the matter was he was also relieved.

He wanted to hear Dick’s voice.

**_Ring._ **

He picked up on the third ring, and Dick released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, shoulders relaxing simply at the sound of his voice. God, he hoped Wally didn’t find out exactly how much of a sap he was. There were several things he wanted to say, even more that he wanted to express, but what came out was a quiet, relieved, and terribly shy— “Hi.”

"Hey."

It wasn’t often that Dick failed to find the right words to say, but he was starting to realize that this was a growing problem when it came to Wally. Now that they were actually talking, he was completely tongue-tied.

“Hi,” he repeated, wincing at his own feeble tone. Wally sounded so… unsure. “I just… you know.”

Unless Wally was a mind reader with a range three states wide, that was not going to get him anywhere. And ‘I just wanted to hear your voice’ wasn’t really something he wanted to say out loud. Too emotionally compromising.

Little embarrassing.

Should probably be reserved for some inevitable moment between life and death when Wally’s voice was the only thing he could hold onto.

…Something along those lines.

He should probably stop rambling in his head and tell Wally why he called.

“My stitches are pulling.” Wow. Totally not what he’d wanted to say. “Alfred would probably tell you it’s because I can’t hold still.”

Carefully, Dick maneuvered himself down from the pillows, lying down on his uninjured side. Just thinking about Wally was enough to power him to half-mast, but right now his passing arousal wasn’t anything he needed or even wanted to pay attention to.

Phone nestled between his ear and a pillow, Robin fiddled with his blanket.

“But I _know_ my stitches, and they never fail to give me trouble when Bats is refusing medical treatment after a bad night out or working on a hard case and not letting me help. Joker’s usually involved.” His stitches had nothing to do with it, but Dick wasn’t kidding about being able to tell when Bruce was particularly… bothered. There was no reason that shouldn’t apply to another important person in his life.

He wished Wally were here.

“My stitches told me to call you.” His nail caught on a loose string. “You okay, KF?”

Wally wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it really wasn’t a status report on Dick’s stitches. He was worried that they’d have to cut everything off because Dick thought Batman was in trouble, but that wasn’t it either.”

 _Oh. Psychic stitches. Okay._ He really shouldn’t be wondering if Dick was actually serious or not.

Regardless, the answer came out automatically, like it had a million times before, to Dick, to Artemis, to Barry, to his parents: “Whaaat? Okay? Pfft. Of course I’m okay. What’s there to not be okay about?”

Normally this would be quickly followed up by a change in subject, or at least a return to whatever they were doing, but tonight the excuse felt particularly flat as he tried and failed to think of something other than the source of his anxiety:

"So your stiches itch, huh?" was a buzz kill in more ways than one; "Too bad Halo 5 is on the Xbox One" seemed too off topic for once; "so how do you feel about ice?" ….

… well that might work.

But the silence was getting awkward.

“Huh,” Dick said noncommittally, a grin ghosting across his lips at the familiarity of the denial. At least Wally sounded like himself. “Well, stitches aside—” He was going to regret the stitches comment in the morning, he just knew it. “—point is that I called you because I thought you seemed a little… off.”

 _So to speak._ He grinned at the unspoken little joke.

“So either you’re not telling me something, or I’m wrong.” Driving his focus into the string he was diligently working out of his bedspread, Robin tried not to slur his words, excess energy and drugs combining working together to make him voice whatever came to mind unfiltered. “And we both know that I don’t do ‘wrong’.”

This would probably be a lot easier if he could figure out the problem on his own. Maybe he should go over to Wally’s house. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that painkillers tended to leave him feeling extremely cuddly in a manor with only one cuddler, of course.

His arms itched with emptiness, so Dick grabbed a pillow to squeeze the feathers out of.

“Now that we’re on the same page, let me tell you what’s going to happen.” Wally was still silent, which was fine. “I’m going to ask again, ‘is something wrong?’ Whereupon you will reply with, ‘yes, Dick, something _is_ wrong. Something about what we were doing before’—and what we were doing before was sexting—‘is bothering me. And as, despite all appearances to the contrary, I know that you are not psychic, and therefore do not know exactly what is bothering me, I am going to tell you what is bothering me, because we have been best friends for six years, and I know that I can tell you anything.’

Then I’m going to say, ‘of course my dear best friend of six long years, you can tell me anything you want because we have faced death together several times during our acquaintance, and I have been in your room and your underwear and there is nothing you can say anymore that can possibly scare me off, and you should know that no matter what you tell me I will only laugh at you a little, and that too only because you were actually worried about talking to me.’”

_I love you, but we’re best friends first. Remember that, KF._

“And after that, you will tell me what is bothering you in painstaking detail, so we can figure out how to make it stop bothering you.” He paused. “Or, you know, you could just skip to the end where you tell me everything. Would probably save time and spare you the trouble you’ll get into when I have proof that you can’t recite all that back to me verbatim.”

Hopefully he’d get a little more out of Wally this time round.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?”

If not, he was getting out of bed and heading straight for Central.

“Hi, Wally. Is something wrong?”

Wally’s lip quirked up at Dick’s very tongue-in-cheek lecture. He ended up on his stomach with his face buried in his pillow, muffling his almost laughter as Dick wound down.

 _Ass_.

_Ass who knew him too well._

Welp.

He rolled over with a huge sigh-groan into the phone, because he honestly wasn’t sure if something actually was wrong, and if it were, he didn’t know what it was.

"Nothi — " he began, but no. That was useless. “I dunno,” he landed on with a sigh, in a tone that at least clearly admitted that something was going on.

He _didn’t_ know, and the not knowing really was the heart of his issues. Would Dick _like_ the stuff he mentioned doing? Would he _tell_ him if he didn’t? Would he _tell_ him if it, you know, reminded him of … stuff? He didn’t _know_ , and he wouldn’t be able to tell, not really. Not for sure.

Wally didn’t like not knowing things. He didn't like things that were out of his control.

He didn't like doing this without apologizing properly for Miami, either.

"I dunno, dude," he started again, trying not to feel too embarrassed by how unbelievably sappy he was going to sound.

If he was going to sext Dick, he didn’t like not _actually knowing_ what the weight of Dick above him would _feel_ like as he ground down on him.

"I just, kinda wonder, like …"

He didn’t like _not knowing_ what Dick _tasted_ like as he sucked his tongue into his mouth like that.

"… wouldn’t it be kinda a better idea to …"

And he _didn’t_ know. He didn’t know well enough. Not like this, not yet. Not how Dick _smelled_ , how he _sounded_ , the _twist_ of his muscles on top of him, the _feel_ of his hands in places where they haven’t …

"… you know …"

… the _look_ on his face when he ...

"… do this in person uhm, first?"

… his _warmth_ , his _closeness_ afterwards.

He just really didn’t like not knowing.

Dick's first instinct was to respond with a childish, defensive, “You started it.”—because Dick had been _joking_ and _Wally_ was the one who made it serious and it _wasn’t_ his fault this time, right?—but he bit it back and opened his mouth to say that it was alright; he understood.

What came out instead was a startled, absolutely mortifying, “You want to do this in person?”

Which was stupid; _of course_ Wally wanted to do this, he wanted to do this in person, probably after the second date at the very least, and Dick curled in on himself in sudden realization, ignoring the stinging at his side because _oh god_ he hadn’t even thought about taking Wally out on an official date… or, okay, he’d thought about it, but Wally never said anything, and he’d just assumed that unofficial outings together—things that Dick considered dates—would be enough.

“I mean,” he scrambled, falling short. _What did he mean?_ _That he wasn’t expecting to do this at all?_ “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s really not, I just…” Dick trailed off uncomfortably, twirling the piece of thread from his bedspread around his fingers. “I wasn’t really thinking anything when I said that. Can I start over?”

There was a lot of starting over going on tonight.

He’d promised to laugh, but he… couldn’t. Wally was waiting on the other end of the line, and Dick had more important things to do right now.

Wally stood dumbfounded at Dick’s shocked tone. __Uhm, of course he did—did **Dick** not want to? __ What did Dick think he was talking about? Did he think Wally meant full-on sex? That is, Wally wanted that, too— _someday_ —but he hadn’t necessarily meant … there were a lot of grey areas.

_… it makes you uncomfortable._

_… you’d rather not do it in person, like ever._

_… I’m not enough to patch up what came before._

“What I meant to say was,” Dick had barreled on. “Do you want to go out on a date with me?”

Wally had dropped into speed from embarrassment and anxiety, he was so busy filling in endings to that sentence, each more terrifying than the last, that he hardly noticed Dick’s question.

"Wait, what?"

Despite the nervous butterflies fluttering in his stomach— _butterflies my ass; there’s a fucking octopus in there_ —he couldn’t help half-giggling—and half-gasping, because stab wounds really fucking hurt—into the phone. Bewilderment suited Wally.

“A date,” he repeated patiently. “You know, dinner, movie, flowers? _Pacific Rim_ is in theaters, and we both know a couple good places to eat in Manhattan. The flowers are kinda touch and go, but I could switch them out for chocolates instead.”

New York was close enough to Gotham that the added ‘Wayne’ on his credit card was recognizable but not a huge deal, and familiar enough to Dick that he could easily pick out a good restaurant alongside a quiet cinema with perpetually excellent seating.

Not to mention that two boys holding hands or kissing— _wait, a traditional first date would bar kissing, wouldn’t it? Ugh_ —in public wouldn’t even warrant a second glance in that city.

Maybe this time Wally wouldn’t mind Dick slipping an arm around him as they walked.

…Or maybe he shouldn’t take the chance.

“How’s this evening?” he continued, not a little anxiously. “I could pick you up at seven?” Although just because Wally was housesitting for the weekend didn’t mean he didn’t already have plans for a Saturday night, so he added, “Unless you’d rather not. Which is totally cool too.”

It totally wasn’t cool, but Dick wasn’t about to tell him that. His clamped his mouth shut; it had betrayed him enough times for one night.

"Sure, of course." The words fell out of Wally’s mouth, even while he was nervously trying to backpedal; he’d sort of wanted the trip to Stanford he’d been planning to be their "first date."

But he hadn’t even nailed down a weekend to ask Dick to come to Stanford for the first time so that, when he got there, Wally could surprise him with a trip all over the Bay Area. And it would be sort of … telling if he turned Dick down and asked now.

 _It would — that was kind of a different scale, right?_ This was dinner and a movie. They’d done this a hundred times before. Besides, he could never turn down a chance to get chocolate. Or Pacific Rim. Though, of course, it would be … different this time. It would be Dinner and a Movie.

And honestly? Part of him just couldn’t wait.

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. “It’s, uh … it’s a date, Dick.”

“Yeah,” Dick tried really hard not to make that a question, because Wally’d said yes, and he wasn’t about to give the redhead a chance to change his mind.

He said yes.

“It’s a date.”

Rolling onto his back again, Dick stared at his ceiling and tried to figure out if it would be awkward. They were best friends. Nothing had been awkward so far, but… everything had gone by in such a rush. They never got a chance to do normal stuff together. Their first confessions came at a time when they were both convinced they’d never see each other again, so when they did, everything was forgotten I the wake of Dick’s trauma and Wally’s comfort and a reunion after seven months of separation and neither of them knew how to bring this up again until the Vlatavan ball three months later.

And then came a period of trouble and trouble and more trouble in their respective cities for the rest of February and Dick was nearing the end of senior year and Wally had declared his two majors in college and then the redhead had to speed off to China for half of March and they didn’t get to talk about anything until Dick’s birthday. And ten days later was April Fool’s.

April 1st was really why Dick hadn’t thought of asking Wally out on an actual date until now. As far as he was concerned, their first date was already over. A picnic by the lake, sneaking around the Gotham Observatory… it hadn’t been official, but it was the best April Fool’s Dick had had in ten years. The only one he could remember being happy at.

_Was that wrong?_

He should have been sad, but instead for half the day he’d been content, and the other half he’d been happy, and he thought of the time spent with Wally that day as his first date with the speedster, and it wasn’t that the fact that his mom and dad were gone still didn’t upset him or even that he’d even stopped having the occasional nightmare, it was just—

Bruce had told him that it would get easier, for him.

Dick just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

_Was nine years too soon?_

He listened to his best friend breathe on the other end of the line.

“Wally?” he asked abruptly. “Is nine years too soon to get over your parents’ deaths?”

Wally was still so busy trying to figure out how to bring up the trip to Stanford that he almost missed Dick’s question.

That was kind of a curveball. Wally frowned; this was one area of Dick’s life he could only serve as a band-aid, and he honestly had no idea to answer that. His grandfather on his mom’s side had died when he was almost too young to remember; despite his almost daily brushes with the spectre of death, his life had been blessed with very few actual deaths.

His instinct was to say “no,” but what did he know?

"Uhm," he said softly, "I think this is a little above my paygrade, Dick. Maybe you could ask Black Canary about it?"

_It is, isn’t it?_

And the Worst Son Ever award goes to…

Dick laughed softly. “You’re my best friend, Kid Idiot. That makes you my personal therapist, too.”

And god knows I’m screwed up enough for you to need therapy after dealing with me.

“It’s okay.” Robin tugged at the loose thread again, twirling it around his finger and finally snapping it clear off the bedspread. “It was a rhetorical question anyway. I just don’t want to hang up and try to sleep.”

There were fifty thousand ways the next day could go wrong. He hadn’t even been sure Wally would agree to a date just a few days after their last disastrous outing, especially since Dick had yet to apologize.

He was hoping that his discretion tomorrow would make up for the lack of it at the tattoo parlor.

Plus he was really getting sick of the nightmares.

"Hey, no problem, man," Wally said, trying not to let the edge of exhaustion cut into his voice.

Wally felt horrible, but his lids were already slipped halfway over his eyes and his pillow was calling— _loudly_. Half-studied work sheets for midterms lay strewn about on his desk from the intense study session before Dick had called, and he had just dragged himself off his chair and under the covers after Dick had asked him out on the date.

Let’s face it, he wouldn’t be the best of listeners right now no matter what, but of course he wanted to try.

"What else is new?"

Dick could hear the slowness of Wally’s words and the slur of his s’s, and despite the valiant effort made at keeping up the conversation, it was a little obvious that Wally was falling asleep on him.

“You should sleep,” he said. Elinore would probably be up for snuggling with him tonight, as long as Robin was careful with his side. A small part of him wanted to ask Wally to not hang up, fall asleep and let the minutes pile up so that Dick could just clutch the phone to his ear and listen Wally’s deep, even breaths over the line when he inevitably succumbed to exhaustion and woke up terrified.

But that sounded a little creepy even to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

"Hmmm," Wally murmured, half asleep. "Maybe."

He rolled over and curled around a pillow, tucking his covers under on one side in a half cocoon. The phone jammed against his down-side ear so that he wouldn’t need to hold it, and a small smile ticked up the edges of his lips. “I need to get my beauty sleep so I can be ~ _pretty_ ~ for you tomorrow, Dick.”

His breaths were already deepening; he was so comfortable; talking to Dick was so comfortable; getting to see him tomorrow was so comfortable in a ticklish sort of way.

"Mmkay," he was really drifting off now, "lovya," fell unbidden from his tongue, but he was too sleepy to consider the weightiness of his words.

Well fuck. Now there was something stuck in Dick's throat, and he couldn’t formulate a coherent enough sentence that wouldn’t give the walls in his room cavities.

“I’ve seen you run straight into a wall and get a nosebleed all over your face and down your suit, and there’s clearly something very wrong with me because for some unfathomable reason I still thought you were cute.” He was pretty sure Wally was already asleep, but if he didn’t say this he might say something undeniably sappy instead, and that just wouldn’t do. “I don’t think you need to worry about being pretty for an obviously biased basket case, but I love you too, jerk.”

With that, Dick hung up and went to find Elinore. And maybe brush his teeth, just in case.


End file.
